They shook their heads.
'From behind,' said Sergeant Colon. 'You hit 'em from behind. No sense in risking trouble, is there? Now you have a go, Lance-Constable Cuddy.'
'But sarge—'
'Do it.'
They watched.
'Perhaps we could fetch him a chair?' said Angua, after an embarrassing fifteen seconds.
Detritus sniggered.
'Him too little to be a guard,' he said.
Lance-Constable Cuddy stopped jumping up and down.
'Sorry, sergeant,' he said, 'this isn't how dwarfs do it, see?'
'It's how guards do it,' said Sergeant Colon. 'All right, Lance-Constable Detritus – don't salute – you give it a try.'
Detritus held the truncheon between what must technically be called thumb and forefinger, and smashed it over Arthur's helmet. He stared reflectively at the truncheon's stump. Then he bunched up his, for want of a better word, fist, and hammered Arthur over what was briefly its head until the stake was driven three feet into the ground.
'Now the dwarf, he can have a go,' he said.
There was another embarrassed five seconds. Sergeant Colon cleared his throat.
'Well, yes, I think we can consider him thoroughly apprehended,' he said. 'Make a note, Corporal Nobbs. Lance-Constable Detritus – don't salute! - deducted one dollar for loss of truncheon. And you're supposed to be able to ask 'em questions afterwards.'
He looked at the remains of Arthur.
'I think around about now is a good time to demonstrate the fine points of harchery,' he said.
Lady Sybil Ramkin looked at the sad strip of leather that was all that remained of the late Chubby.
'Who'd do something like this to a poor little dragon?' she said.
'We're trying to find out,' said Vimes. 'We . . . we think maybe he was tied up next to a wall and exploded.'
Carrot leaned over the wall of a pen.
'Coochee-coochee-coo?' he said. A friendly flame took his eyebrows off.
'I mean, he was as tame as anything,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Wouldn't hurt a fly, poor little thing.'
'How could someone make a dragon blow up?' said Vimes. 'Could you do it by giving it a kick?'
'Oh, yes,' said Sybil. 'You'd lose your leg, mind you.'
'Then it wasn't that. Any other way? So you wouldn't get hurt?'
'Not really. It'd be easier to make it blow itself up. Really, Sam, I don't like talking about—'
'I have to know.'
'Well . . . at this time of year the males fight. Make themselves look big, you know? That's why I always keep them apart.'
Vimes shook his head. 'There was only one dragon,' he said.